Once a Dancer, Always a Dancer
by GeorgyannWayson
Summary: Sherlock and Mummy have always had a special connection in the form of the traditional waltz (Story one in a collection of challenge fics).


_This one shot takes place within the AU that I have created for the Holmes family that starts with 'A Small Price to Pay for Her', goes through 'The Beginnings of Us' and up to my current WIP 'Origins'. Please enjoy :)_

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**Once a Dancer, Always a Dancer**

"Mummy."

Linda Holmes looked up to see her six-year-old son, Sherlock standing in front of her. His dark curls stuck up from his head at all sorts of odd angles and the bottom of his pajama shirt hung askew on his body. He squinted against the soft glow of the lamplight.

"Sherlock, darling, what are you doing up so late?" she asked, closing the photo album that was in her lap and setting it aside.

"I can't sleep," he mumbled. Linda frowned in sympathy.

"Come." She pat the spot next to her and Sherlock climbed up into the large armchair, snuggling into her side as she tucked the blanket around him. "Now, close your eyes and try to sleep, all right?" She kissed the top of his head and picked back up the album that she was looking through, resuming where she left off.

A few minutes of silence passed.

"Is that you in those pictures, Mummy?" Sherlock asked, sounding more awake than he needed to be.

"Yes." Linda pointed to a photograph of her as a young girl holding a trophy and beaming at the camera. "That's when I won my first dance competition."

"You used to dance?"

"Mhm." She flipped a page to a row of photographs of her in different dresses; bright colors of yellow, red and blue shone off the page under the dull light around the chair. "Before I even knew that I wanted to study mathematics, I wanted to be a professional ballroom dancer. I would've spent my whole life waltzing if I had my choice-" she trailed off with a smile. "But fate understood that it wasn't where I wasn't supposed to be. I wouldn't have met your father if I had gone on with those plans."

As she flipped another page, Sherlock slowly sat up and stopped her hand to study the page of photographs. Most of them were of her and her dance partner at the time -whatever his name was-, their faces stone-blank and arms and legs blurry from their movements that the camera had failed to still. A part of her couldn't believe that she had actually been able to move that fast at one point in her life; age was truly an ugly thing-

"Will you show me how to dance?" Sherlock asked suddenly, breaking Linda's thoughts.

"If you really want me to."

"Now?"

"No, sweetheart, you need to go to sleep. I promise that I'll teach you tomorrow."

"But I want to know now," Sherlock said, his brows furrowing in what she thought was slight frustration. Linda sighed; as much as she loved her baby boy, his stubbornness was a force to be reckoned with, and now that she had awoken the beast of his curiosity, there was no use in trying to wrestle it down.

"All right," she finally said, chuckling at his eager bounce out of the chair. She got up and stood in front of him, straightening his shirt. "You know, mathematics and dance are actually very much alike."

"Really?"

"Really. Here." She took his right hand and put it around her waist to the small of her back. "Now," she continued, taking his left hand. "This position we're starting in called the 'closed position', because our bodies are very close. If you really look at it, though, this position can have a mathematical name, too."

Sherlock briefly studied their position. "Tangent," he said before Linda could even open her mouth. "If we were a right-angled triangle, my arm around your waist is the opposite side and our arms are the adjacent side."

"Very good, darling. You certainly know your trigonometry."

Sherlock beamed.

"Now, the waltz has many different versions, but the primary beat used is ¾ time. So, we count out our rhythm." With a gentle lead, she softly counted to three and moved them toward the stairs. "Excellent. Now, we can incorporate geometry with making shapes with our feet. The traditional steps for a waltz are called 'box steps', which means-"

"We're making a square."

"Exactly," Linda said with a smile. "And one, two, three." She led them into a simple waltz and to no music at all, they danced. To her surprise, Sherlock was actually quite a natural. Though he stumbled and lost the rhythm the first few times, he quickly figured out how to correct himself and keep up with her; he even went as far as to take the lead after awhile, slowly moving them around the small space.

"You did absolutely splendid, darling," Linda praised as they slowed to a stop after a few minutes.

"Will you teach me more?" Sherlock asked, trying his best to sound awake despite the fact that he looked positively bushed.

"Later, I will. But for now, bedtime."

"But I don't wanna," he complained as she led him toward the stairs.

"Come on, let's go." She ignored his grumbling as they made their way up to his bedroom. She tucked him into bed again and Redbeard hopped up into the bed to take his usual place behind his master. "Good night, my little dancer." She kissed his forehead and he closed his eyes, smacking his lips sleepily.

"You promise to teach me more dancing tomorrow?" he asked softly.

"Promise," she whispered as his breathing slowed to a gentle rhythm. _My little boy_, she thought to herself as she left his bedroom with a smile on her face, _the future dancing chemist..._

* * *

_Years later…_

John and Mary were finally married.

As Sherlock looked all around at the wedding goers, he suddenly realized just how of place he was amongst the celebration; at least, how out of place his feelings were. A new chapter had begun; now there wasn't just John, but Mary too. As truly happy as he was for his best friend, Sherlock still couldn't help but wonder just where and how he would fit into this new arrangement that fate had given him.

He watched Mary and John dance with a slight smile. At least John had found happiness with someone; by most people's standards, he certainly deserved it. He tore his eyes away from the happy couple as the drunken guests around him sang out with the music, feeling more alone in the middle of a crowd than he had ever felt before.

_Am I even ready for this?_

With one last look around the hall, he silently ducked out. Though it was a warm spring night, Sherlock still wrapped himself up in his coat, turning the collar of it up as he buttoned it. Where to go; what to do? He didn't want to go back to Baker Street, nor was he really up for gallivanting through London to get to Mycroft's house and he most certainly wasn't up for his older brother's snarky and sarcastic commentary on the situation at hand.

But there was one person that he was willing to see and spend time with.

Checking the time on his phone, he set off to hail a cab. Knowing her, she was still very much awake…

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"Sherlock," Mrs. Holmes said in surprise. The familiar pang of worry that was so used to experiencing with her youngest and his antics overtook her. "Is everything all right?" Her eyes were suddenly hypersensitive to any little blemish, bruise or speckle of blood; she just had to find out what was wrong-

"I'm fine, Mum," Sherlock said with an eye roll. "Are you going to move so I can come in?"

She let out a sigh of slight relief and stepped back to let him in.

"Where's Dad?" he asked.

"He's in bed already." Mrs. Holmes shut the door and Sherlock leaned against the counter.

"Seems as though he goes to bed earlier and earlier every year," he said.

"And every year, I stay up later and later," she replied with a huff as she went back to the pile of turnips that she was sorting through by the sink. "So what brings you here, dear?"

"Is it suddenly a crime to drop in and see my parents?"

"Well, no, but you're never here unless you have to be. And seeing that Mikey isn't with you-" From behind her, she heard him furiously trying to hide a childish snicker at the nickname that Mycroft so passionately despised. "I'm just curious as to why you're here."

"I just came from John and Mary's wedding, actually," he said after taking a few seconds to compose himself.

"Oh, did you?" Mrs. Holmes wiped her hands with towel by the cutting board. "I'm sure it was absolutely wonderful. And I trust that you were on your best behavior." She shot him a look over her shoulder.

"When am I ever not on my best behavior at weddings?" Sherlock asked simply. But at her narrowed gaze, he sighed. "It's a long story, but just know that I saved a life."

Well, it was certainly better than hearing that he single-handedly ruining a wedding, at any rate. She went to the sink and turned on the pipe to wash her hands. "You left early," she pointed out lazily.

Sherlock nodded.

"Did you at least dance with someone before you left?"

"No, I didn't."

"Oh, what a shame," she said. "Some nice young lady or gent is out a wonderful experience."

"It's of no consequence to me."

"Well, all the same." Mrs. Holmes opened her mouth to comment on how the garden was thriving with new flowers and plants, but stopped as she saw that Sherlock was standing in front of her, his brows furrowed as though he was in deep thought. "What?" she asked, reaching up to touch her face. "Is there something-"

"You haven't danced in ages," Sherlock said, giving her a once-over. She blinked.

"Um, well, no, I haven't," she said slowly. "But I don't exactly have someone to dance with-."

"You do now. Come on, you need to get those ankles moving; they're getting a bit flabby." With a sudden sweep, Sherlock pulled Mrs. Holmes into his arms and put his right hand to the small of her back. She stared up at him.

"Mind your matters; I'm still your mother," she said as Sherlock took her left hand and led them into a simple waltz. Even though it had been years since they had danced together, in the silence of the kitchen, Sherlock and Mrs. Holmes glided and swept along as though a single year hadn't been lost at all.

"You know, I taught John how to dance," he finally said after a few minutes. Mrs. Holmes smiled.

"I'm sure the mathematics behind it all was utterly fascinating to him."

"I was too busy with trying to save my toes to teach him anything about that." They shared a soft chuckle.

"You know, you really should've stayed for the reception. To deprive those poor souls of your prowess."

Sherlock shrugged. "I would rather be here right now. The wedding attendees weren't exactly the brightest group; they could barely piece together how he did it."

"Did what?"

"Never mind," Sherlock said quickly and Mrs. Holmes rolled her eyes. "Besides," he continued. "If I had my choice of who to dance with, there's only one person that I'll always want to be my partner." They slowed to a stop. "At the very least, you won't kill my feet."

Mrs. Holmes pat her son's cheek at the half-compliment. "Will you stay for tea?"

"Sure."

She left his arms and walked to the stove to set the kettle to boil, listening as Sherlock rummaged through the bookcase by the wall. She shook her head and smiled. Who would've thought that the world's only consulting detective had taken dancing lessons from Mummy and actually retained it all throughout his life?

_But no matter if you're a chemist, detective or mathematician; once a dancer, always a dancer,_ she thought to herself as she picked up the cups of tea and made her way to the table...

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**_NOTE: This one shot was inspired by the prompt 'Learning to Dance' from the Let's Write Sherlock Trope Bingo Challenge on tumblr. I will be writing four other works for this challenge, and if you would like to see what the other prompts are, my profile has them listed!_**

**_*The cover art for this particular story is called 'Dancing Angels' by Alfred Gockal for anyone curious._**

**_GeorgyannWayson_**


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